Macon looked up the phone number in the book. It was nine un the evening, a good time to call. Alexander would have gone to bed. He picked up the phone
But what would he say?
Muriel,last year my son died and I ... Muriel, this has nothing to do with you personally but ... Muriel, I can't. I just can't.
He held the phone to his ear but his throat had closeup, his voice had disappeared. He had never actually said out loud that Ethan was dead. He hadn't needed to; it was in the newspaper, and then friends had told other friends.
He hung up.
He found some notepaper,sat down, took out his pen. Dear Muriel, he wrote. And stared at the page for while.
Funny sort of name, Muriel. He examined his pen closely. How well made it was. He examined the notepaper.
Well.
Dear Muriel, I am very sorry, he wrote, but I won't be able to have dinner with you after all. Something unexpected has happened . Your, Macon.
He put the letter in his pocket and drove to the south of the city. He wondered how Muriel could feel safe living here, among these dark streets full of rubbish and young men drinking out of brown paper bags. He turned onto Singleton Street.
He found number 16, got out of the car and Climbed the steps.
He opened the screen door and took the letter from his pocket. 'I've got a gun,' Muriel said from inside the house, ' and I'm aiming it exactly where your head is.'
His heart started beating very fast. Her voice sounded level and accurate - like her gun, he imagined. 'It's Macon,' he said.
'Macon?' The inner door opened a little. 'Macon, what are you doing here?'
He gave her the letter.
She took it and opened it, using both hands. (There was no sign of a gun.) She read it and looked up at him.
He saw he had done it all wrong.
'Last year,' he said, ' I lost ... I experienced a ... loss, yes.'
She went on looking into his face.
'I lost my son,' Macon said. 'He was ... at a hamburger bar and then ... some came, a gunman, and shot him. I can't go to dinner with people! I can't talk to their little boys I don't mean to hurt your feelings but I'm just not up to this, do you hear?'
she took one of this wrists very gently and she drew him into the house, still not fully opening, of narrowly avoiding something. She closed the door behind him. She put her arm around him and hugged him.
'Every day I tell myself it's time to be getting over this' he said into the space above her head. 'I know that people expect it of me. They used to offer their sympathy but now they don't; they don't even mention his name. They think it's time my life moved on. The first year was like a bed dream - I remembered he wasn't there to be woken. But this second year is worse, it's real. I've stopped going to his door. I've sometime let a whole day pass without thinking about him. And you'd suppose Sarah and I could comfort each other but no, we only do each other harm. I think this has only brought out the truth about us - how far apart we are. And now I'm far from everyone; I don't have any friend anymore and everyone looks silly and foolish and not related to me'
She drew him through a living room, up a stairway and across a hall and into a bedroom.
'No, wait. This not what I want' he said
'Just sleep, lie down and sleep' she told
She removed his coat and hung it in a closet. She knelt and untied his shose. He stepped out of them obediently onto the bed in his underwear, and she drew the cover over him.
Next he heard her moving through the rest of the house, turning off lights, running water, saying something in another silk, the color of red wine. Then she got into bed and lay close material next to him. He felt how cool and soft thesis wad, cool silk overarm body.
in the night he heard a child cough,and he swam up through a sea of dreams to answer. But he was in a room with one tall blue window, and the child was not Ethan. He turned over and found Muriel. She sighed in her sleep, a soft sound full of remembered pain. which seemed to say to Macon, About your son. . . I am wounded too. We're all wounded. You are not the only one
Macon looked up the phone number in the book. It was nine un the evening, a good time to call. Alexander would have gone to bed. He picked up the phone But what would he say? Muriel,last year my son died and I ... Muriel, this has nothing to do with you personally but ... Muriel, I can't. I just can't.He held the phone to his ear but his throat had closeup, his voice had disappeared. He had never actually said out loud that Ethan was dead. He hadn't needed to; it was in the newspaper, and then friends had told other friends.He hung up.He found some notepaper,sat down, took out his pen. Dear Muriel, he wrote. And stared at the page for while. Funny sort of name, Muriel. He examined his pen closely. How well made it was. He examined the notepaper.Well.Dear Muriel, I am very sorry, he wrote, but I won't be able to have dinner with you after all. Something unexpected has happened . Your, Macon.He put the letter in his pocket and drove to the south of the city. He wondered how Muriel could feel safe living here, among these dark streets full of rubbish and young men drinking out of brown paper bags. He turned onto Singleton Street.He found number 16, got out of the car and Climbed the steps.He opened the screen door and took the letter from his pocket. 'I've got a gun,' Muriel said from inside the house, ' and I'm aiming it exactly where your head is.'His heart started beating very fast. Her voice sounded level and accurate - like her gun, he imagined. 'It's Macon,' he said.'Macon?' The inner door opened a little. 'Macon, what are you doing here?'
He gave her the letter.
She took it and opened it, using both hands. (There was no sign of a gun.) She read it and looked up at him.
He saw he had done it all wrong.
'Last year,' he said, ' I lost ... I experienced a ... loss, yes.'
She went on looking into his face.
'I lost my son,' Macon said. 'He was ... at a hamburger bar and then ... some came, a gunman, and shot him. I can't go to dinner with people! I can't talk to their little boys I don't mean to hurt your feelings but I'm just not up to this, do you hear?'
she took one of this wrists very gently and she drew him into the house, still not fully opening, of narrowly avoiding something. She closed the door behind him. She put her arm around him and hugged him.
'Every day I tell myself it's time to be getting over this' he said into the space above her head. 'I know that people expect it of me. They used to offer their sympathy but now they don't; they don't even mention his name. They think it's time my life moved on. The first year was like a bed dream - I remembered he wasn't there to be woken. But this second year is worse, it's real. I've stopped going to his door. I've sometime let a whole day pass without thinking about him. And you'd suppose Sarah and I could comfort each other but no, we only do each other harm. I think this has only brought out the truth about us - how far apart we are. And now I'm far from everyone; I don't have any friend anymore and everyone looks silly and foolish and not related to me'
She drew him through a living room, up a stairway and across a hall and into a bedroom.
'No, wait. This not what I want' he said
'Just sleep, lie down and sleep' she told
She removed his coat and hung it in a closet. She knelt and untied his shose. He stepped out of them obediently onto the bed in his underwear, and she drew the cover over him.
Next he heard her moving through the rest of the house, turning off lights, running water, saying something in another silk, the color of red wine. Then she got into bed and lay close material next to him. He felt how cool and soft thesis wad, cool silk overarm body.
in the night he heard a child cough,and he swam up through a sea of dreams to answer. But he was in a room with one tall blue window, and the child was not Ethan. He turned over and found Muriel. She sighed in her sleep, a soft sound full of remembered pain. which seemed to say to Macon, About your son. . . I am wounded too. We're all wounded. You are not the only one
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